


Deconstruction

by AbbyRosette



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Asexual Character, Blood and Gore, Canon Trans Character, Hurt/Comfort, Misgendering, Multi, Other, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-03-20 05:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbyRosette/pseuds/AbbyRosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crawling slowly, creeping through to his senses like tendrils of cruel, cruel, smoke came the scent of blood. It was sharp and rich and sickening. His breath hitched at the memory. Was that this morning? It didn't make sense to him anymore. He'd almost forgotten...</p><p>He'd tried to forget. To run to another time and place entirely.</p><p>A shadow fell over his heart. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.</p><p>Fear was a fire, and he was burning alive.</p><p>During the raid on the gourmet ghoul auction, everything unravels.<br/>Afterward, things can't be stitched back to the way that they used to be.<br/>\\<br/>AU in which Mutsuki is truly purchased by Big Madam and taken to her estate when she escapes the CCG raid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stirring

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all!!! I have big plans for this story and hope to update once a week or once every other week! Please give me any feedback you might have in the comments section! 
> 
> Before we begin, HUGE MEGA GIANT warnings for torture, unreality, gore/blood, misgendering, and uh...just a lot of awful stuff. Please proceed at your own discretion!
> 
> And if you'd like, you can follow me on tumblr for more gross sobbing about Mutsuki Tooru @ asexualmutsuki.tumblr.com!

> April is the cruellest month, breeding
> 
> Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
> 
> Memory and desire, stirring
> 
> Dull roots with spring rain.
> 
> -TS Eliot, "The Waste Land"

* * *

Mutsuki's gaze fixed on the spotted giraffe plush as Suzuya set it down on the table in front of them. It's eyes were big and shiny, two black buttons stitched onto a cute face. It was small, but by the look on Suzuya's face, Mutsuki knew that it would be a good souvenir. He bought it for his superior, a token of his gratitude for their training. Which reminded him...

"Um, Suzuya...?" Mutsuki asked, tentatively digging his spoon into his ice cream but not taking a bite. The zoo where they had spent the day had an ice cream parlor by the entrance and after a long afternoon of essentially running around the park and watching Suzuya snap pictures of the animals on his phone, they decided to stop in for a snack.

"Hmm?" His superior asked, swallowing a great bite of chocolate sundae. There was a small touch of whipped cream at the corner of his mouth. "Are you not gonna eat that?" He gestured to Mutsuki's ice cream.

"N-no, that's not it. I just...don't understand how this is training. Weren't we supposed to use the CCG's sparring room and-"

"Nah, nah, naaaah." Suzuya shook their head, setting their spoon down with a clatter. "We're getting to know each other, and besides...we should make memories like this together."

"Make memories?"

"I don't think you're a good liar."

"Excuse me?" Mutsuki asked, eye widening. What on earth was Suzuya talking about?

"Weeeeell," He tapped his chin with his spoon, "We're going to be friends, right?"

"We are?"

Suzuya blinked at Mutsuki in a strange way before digging their spoon back into the sundae. "On the mission, of course. Sasaki wanted me to accompany you, remember?" There was a note in their tone as if saying ' _duh, Mutsuki_.' "You and I are going to be normal friends going off to a normal part-time job. So in case they ask, we've gotta know stuff about each other. And I doubt you'd be very good at making up stuff we've done together as friends, so...the zoo is a good place to start!" He concluded happily, taking another bite, "Plus that new giraffe was born last week and I wanted to see it."

_Oh, so that's what this was about?_

"Mmm, right." Mutsuki nodded, appetite suddenly lost at the mention of the mission. Something had shifted in his head, his heart begging to beat not faster, but heavier. A dull  _thud-thud-thudding_ that pulsed through his whole body. "S-so, we're coming up with our cover stories then."

"Yeah," Suzuya twirled the spoon adeptly before scooping up a glob of whipped cream, "The auction's really important, so we need to be prepared for anything."

_The auction._  If any two words could stop Mutsuki's heart, it was those. He removed his hand from his spoon like he had been shocked. Something felt wrong...

"S-suzuya..." It left his voice in a murmur so quiet that it was hardly more than a breath.

Suzuya continued on, "The - so - needs us - - - - - really important."

"W-what was that?" Suddenly, the world felt artificial to him. Suzuya's voice ebbed in and out, sometimes clear, sometimes muffled in an ocean of white noise. His mouth moved, but static came out.

"Mmm? I said the - - needs - to get our - - - - - - important."

That didn't make any sense. His hands dropped to his lap, curling into fists around the hem of his shirt and squeezing. What was he saying? He couldn't hear it. He- he couldn't-

"Wh-what did you just...?"

"I said be a good girl and pass the teapot, Sachi-chan!"

"The... _teapot_?"

Sachi...? Who was-?

Mutsuki's gaze fixed upon the spotted teapot, light yellow and white like a toy giraffe with the black lacquered lid gleaming. His hands were still balled up around fabric but-

_The fabric was pink._

His shirt was gone, replaced by frills. He was draped in them, unable to escape. A string of faux pearls around his neck seemed to press at his jugular. He was choking.

"Sachi-chan, don't make Mama ask you again."

"M...mama...?" Hands trembling, he raised his eyes to finally look at who was really sitting across from him. Her smile was wide and repugnant, teeth strapped together with pastel colored braces and thick fingers dappled with rings. That's right. This was where he really was.

"That's right, darling. Now pass the teapot." There was a threatening edge to her voice and Mutsuki's hands jerked up to the table quickly in response before he was even aware of what he was doing. Robotically, he did as he was told. She poured herself a cup of black coffee from the pot, inhaling the scent deeply. "Did you know why I invited you up for afternoon tea, my pet?"

Mutsuki shook his head.

"You didn't do as I asked this morning."

"Oh," That. That. That. That. That.

He didn't do  _that._

Crawling slowly, creeping through to his senses like tendrils of cruel, cruel, smoke came the scent of blood. It was sharp and rich and sickening. His breath hitched at the memory. Was that this morning? It didn't make sense to him anymore. He'd almost forgotten...

He'd  _tried_  to forget. To run to another time and place entirely.

"When Mama asks you to prepare her meal for her,  _you do it_." She rose from her seat at the small table, her shadow shrouding the childlike arrangement of flowery teacups and doilies. "This is what you could be getting if you did as you were told." She waved her hand over the display of coffee and pastel macarons that she could not eat. "Buuuut...tell me what you didn't do, my doll. Say it out loud so that you'll remember for next time."

A shadow fell over his heart. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

He struggled to find his voice, thin and strained to breaking. "I-I didn't-"

Fear was a fire, and he was burning alive.

* * *

 

"Mmm hmm, mmm hmm," Suzuya hummed into the cell phone absent mindedly as he moved down the hall and into his bedroom. "I'll be there soon, Hanbee~" They insisted, "I was just out doing some important work on a new case."

It was code for sleeping in, though he'd fallen asleep on the couch and away from his alarm clock, so he was no longer sure if it counted as sleeping in if it was unintentional.

Yanking open the door to their room, they nodded and continued to dispel their subordinate's concerns until-

His gaze fixed upon the spotted giraffe plush where it sat innocently in the center of the floor. It must have fallen from its shelf when he opened the door, polished black eyes gleaming up at him in the mid-morning light. He froze, arm halfway to where his suspenders hung on the wall. A shadow fell over his heart.

"Hello? Are you still there?" Hanbee's voice pulled him back.

"Yeah, yeeeeeah!" Suzuya recovered, grabbing their suspenders and moving forward again. He stepped around the giraffe, as if fearful of touching it. It was an artifact, a part of the eclectic collection that made up his room. That was all it was. "I'm already on my way!" He lied.

They hung up the phone, clipping on his suspenders and running his fingers through his hair to straighten it out a little. The meeting, the meeting. He'd almost forgotten the meeting. They could all start without him. It wasn't a big deal, after all. Just another dull investigation into some new ghoul he doubted would be a menace for long. It was the same thing over and over again. The thought made his fingers twitch. He bit the tip of his tongue between sharp front teeth, just short of drawing blood.

Before Suzuya left, they kicked the giraffe under the bed.

It reminded him that he hadn't done his job.

* * *

 

Screaming. Why was there so much screaming? It went beyond just his ears, it filled his head with the unbearable noise, rising above the chaotic racket of the room. It made him long for the oppressively quiet white noise of isolation. He longed for those times ( s) chained up and locked away far from the light, raw cement floor scraping his knees and chilling him to the bone. But here he was instead, listening to all of this  _screaming_.

"Sachi-chan! Mama hates to do this!" Stinging. Clawing. Burning. The sensations blended into each other and began to lose meaning outside of the context of wholeness. He'd almost forgotten what comfort felt like. It had been so long. The chains that bound him chaffed at his ankles and wrists, loud red welts forming on the tender skin. Something was dripping, rolling down the exposed skin of his back and  _plip-plip-plipping_  on the floor. He almost wanted to laugh that he could probably still hear a pin drop in this ocean of noise. It was one of the few things the Quinx surgery had done for him.

A fresh wound -tearing and then the awful tugging pressure as a thin section of his flesh was torn away. The smell of blood was everywhere and it made him sick. Churning, churning, churning in his belly until he wasn't sure if he could hold anything down. But his stomach was empty. Sections of skin removed like fillets. The cool press of a blade to his back began to feel soothing -that is, until it  _cut_. He was thrown into the rapids over and over, exhausted skin crying out to screaming muscle. His poor body that he hated so much  _loved_  him, laboring to pull him back from the brink time and time again. She unraveled him and his tissues stitched themselves back together. But his brain...

_Oh_ , his brain.

Tired thoughts chased themselves in circles, words that were beginning to lose meaning filling his head. He clung to them desperately to hold some semblance of who he was. But it was starting to feel like grains of sand cascading between his fingers. It shifted in the wind and he repeated the factual statements mechanically in an attempt to catch them before they blew away.

_This isn't who I am. I am not a pet. This isn't who I am. I am a boy. She is wrong. She is wrong. She is wrong. She is wrong. I am a boy. I am a boy. Third rank CCG investigator. Member of the Quinx squad. I am a boy. I did nothing wrong. I don't deserve to be punished. I am Mutsuki Tooru. I was serving on a mission. I was kidnapped. She is not my mother. I am not a pet. I am a person. I am-_

"Sachi-chan! Hold still! You're making it harder for mama!" The voice was beginning to lose sense. He could only barely register what it said. That wasn't his name. That wasn't who he was.  _She is wrong. She is wrong. She is_ \- "Sachi-chan! Sachi-chan be good while you're being punished! Sachi-chan-"

"MUTSUKI." It was a gutteral cry, shaking from his lips and leaving him raw.

Oh. So that screaming had been him.

The voice -Big Madam. He had to keep his grip on who she really was. Big Madam fell silent, leaving him a few moments to catch his breath.

"Sachi-chan..." She breathed, shock apparent. But it was gone too soon. "You're healing too quickly. Surely that means you're not learning your lesson."

There was the soothing touch of a cool knife to his thickly-scarring skin.

And then the screaming resumed.


	2. Darkness & Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had he given in to delirium more, he would've believed that this was some form of rescue. 
> 
> Things begin to get much worse and Sasaki takes a trip down memory lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! I have the firs 7-8 chapters outlines, it's just that school is taking up a lot of my writing time. Ahhhh!! If anyone wants, they can find me at asexualmutsuki dot tumblr dot com for more soft crying over mucchan. 
> 
> Mega warnings for unreality/misgendering/and implied cannibalism!
> 
> As always, thanks so much for your time and for reading!

> Winter kept us warm, covering
> 
> Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
> 
> A little life with dried tubers.
> 
> -TS Eliot, "The Waste Land"

* * *

 

Had it been days since he'd seen the light? He wasn't sure anymore. Time seemed suspended and crushing at the same time, binding him forever in both the present and the past and holding his future for ransom. The linear arrangement of chronology stuttered, memories becoming present and present never progressing to future. It was so quiet.  _So so quiet._  He could hear himself breathing and it was loud. It filled his head with the rhythmic push and pull of oxygen, agitating him with how predictable and unceasing the pattern was. He was free to move about the space, but he often chose not to. When he  _did_  move, he paced. He paced for hours until his feet hurt and he was tripping over himself.

The darkness was stifling, like a permanent blindfold. Held down there hours at a time with the cold permeating his thin frocks, he sometimes had nothing to do but crouch in the corner and stare. With his back to the wall, he felt safer. Clarity was difficult to come by, the decomposing tatters of it sliding through his fingers as he struggled to snatch what he could of his rotting reality. Despite his best efforts, every once in a while the ribbon would slip from his hands and he'd fall. He fell right out of his body, shifting perspectives in the darkness as if he were no longer tethered to physical form. Hours slipped by like that. When that happened, he would fix his gaze across the black space and survey nothing in particular. If he peered out there for long enough, shapes emerged. Sometimes they were motionless, sometimes not. Often they seemed to morph into people, shadows layered over the darkness with faces that he couldn't quite discern. Through the silence, they grew voices and began to whisper.

_Help will not come._

Then he'd thrash until he returned to his body.

* * *

 

"Shirazu, did you take my PSP without asking again?" Saiko asked, venturing down the stairs and into the living room. It was a rare sight, and Sasaki looked up from his book in surprise. Lately she had become even more like a hermit, going so far as to wait until most of them were asleep to come down for food. She was different, nocturnal almost. And Sasaki wouldn't have known so much about her nighttime habits if he hadn't recently developed his own  _-insomnia_.

"Mmm?" Shirazu asked, sitting up from where he had laid down across one of the couches.

"I asked if you borrowed my PSP,"

"Oh," He held it up in her line of sight, "Sorry, Saiko. I was jus' lookin' for something to do."

"It's...it's fine, don't worry about it." Her tone was flat, waving it off with one hand. In the past this kind of thing would've triggered an all-out fight between the two. Sasaki raised an eyebrow. It was easier to act like this change in behavior was the result of some mysterious peace that had settled over the Quinx household, but that was a blatant lie.

No, Sasaki knew the truth.

"I'll give it back soon," Shirazu promised, "The battery's runnin' low anyway."

"Yeah, okay." She nodded, heading back upstairs.

"Weekends are the worst..." Shirazu grumbled, laying back down and unpausing his game. He mashed at the buttons, but his eyes didn't seem to fully focus on the screen. "Ain't nothin' to do but sit here,"  _Sit here and rot. Sit here and not do a thing about anything. As usual._  He thought it, but didn't dare say it. Not yet. "Where the hell is that damn Urie, anyway?" He groused.

"Ah- I think...out somewhere!" Sasaki offered, snapping his book shut. Things in the house were suffocating on evenings like these, when the tense game of pretend became too exhausting and the rooms fell silent as the night sky. The heart of the house was empty, door shut tight. Mutsuki's bedroom had become an empty chamber, a regretful sepulcher in the center of the home. "But he'll be back in time for dinner, as usual, I'm sure." Urie's habits had changed the least out of all of the Quinx. A knot formed in Sasaki's stomach just thinking about it. But it reminded him...

He turned to his briefcase, which sat by his feet. After a moment of rummaging, he pulled out a thick stack of files. He might as well get a head start on a few things. But as he moved them to the table, a paper came loose and fluttered to the ground.

"Hmm?" Sasaki tilted his head to look where it sat between his feet. Placing the folders on the coffee table, he bent down to retrieve the note. It was folded neatly, the corners perfectly aligned and the crease crisp. The paper was yellow and lined, torn straight from someone's personal notebook. Quietly, he unfolded it. The handwriting was all too familiar, his heart sinking into his stomach. The notes were neat, color-coded, and evenly-spaced. It was a detailed profile of Torso, pieced together from details expounded during one of their meetings. Some of the information was now outdated, but in the file it had stayed.

Mutsuki had poured over the notes, sifting through the less formal slop that he had written in haste during their meetings to compile one official sheet for Sasaki. It was late in the CCG, most of the halls quiet. Originally, he'd only stuck around because Sasaki had. His mentor was finishing up his duties, reading over files that he hadn't particularly wanted to lug home. And Mutsuki stayed for some semblance of company. But this original intention didn't seem to matter anymore, as they both had split up and began to focus on their own tasks.

Sasaki's eyes drooped and he fought to keep them open as he worked, posture growing worse as he progressively hunched further over the desk. It was becoming harder to focus on the words and they seemed to dance and shiver on the page. Maybe it was time to call it a night? He sighed and pushed away from the desk, removing his reading glasses and rubbing gently at his temples.

"Mutsuki," He began, walking down the hall toward the conference room where he'd left his mentee. "Mutsuki, are you ready to-" He began as he opened the door, but froze.

"Ah, Sassan!" Mutsuki greeted him, wide-eyed in surprise. Sasaki raised an eyebrow, the situation at hand not quite what he had anticipated. Red thread would its way around Mutsuki's hands, weaving gently between his fingers and running back and forth between his paralleled hands to form a complicated web. Suzuya of all people hovered my his side, looking like they had just been instructing him. Taking another look at the thread, Sasaki began to vaguely recognize it as a cat's cradle game, albeit a poorly-constructed one.

"Suzuya?" Sasaki asked, "What're you doing here?"

"Just out for a walk when I decided to stop by!" Suzuya explained brightly, with a smile that made Sasaki suspicious that it wasn't the whole truth. They'd probably forgotten something again, or worse, were up to some kind of mischief. But at least Mutsuki seemed to have distracted him for the moment.

"Mmm hmm," Sasaki stepped into the room, one eyebrow still elevated.

"Mutsuki was playing a game with me!" Suzuya enthused, "It's an exercise to get to know each other better before the auction, I've decided." They spoke as if it wasn't certain that the game has a practical purpose before, but now it did since he had to explain himself.

"I-I finished my report, Sassan!" Mutsuki explained dutifully, nodding toward the notepaper that sat on the table. "I made sure to before I did anything else!"

"Oh no, that's fine!" Sasaki reassured, "I was just...surprised to see Suzuya. That's all!"

"I've shown up in weirder places at weirder times," Suzuya explained plainly, as if a bit unimpressed. "Well anyway," he chirped, standing in full and stretching. "I'm gonna get home and sleep. See ya later!"

"Ah- Suzuya!" Mutsuki called, half-standing urgently.

"Mmm?"

"The thread...do you want it-"

"Just keep it!" Suzuya replied, "We might wanna play again soon after all!"

_Again_. What a word everyone took for granted. Sasaki snapped from the memory, realizing that perhaps he'd been more tired than he had let on, even to himself. A sudden weight covered him and he cleared his throat, stowing the notes in a pocket in one of the folders. He didn't care which.  _Again_. It was a luxury that Mutsuki didn't have anymore.

And it was _his fault_ , as an insufficient mentor.

* * *

 

Suzuya spilled a little bit of the hot water on his hand as he poured, the liquid steaming on the counter where it had dribbled off of his palm. He couldn't quite feel it, the sensation of physical pain dulled as it usually was. Instead, he just stared at it for a moment and watched the skin transition to a vibrant pink color, the only apparent sign of trauma to him. It wasn't a horrible burn, after all it wasn't blistering or bubbling, but he knew that it should have at least smarted. For a good while, he suspected that this pain block was mental, but he didn't really care enough to find out for sure. After all, he could still feel the delicate brush of strands of hair tickling the apples of his cheeks as the wind rustled them. He could still feel the cool smooth surface of a countertop beneath his fingertips. He could still feel the empty air of his apartment all around him as it stifled him.

He set the tea kettle down and leaned against the counter, waiting impatiently for his cup of instant noodles to steep in the hot water. The long hours of silence that awaited him before the dawn of the next day were always the hardest part of living for him recently, though he couldn't put words to why. He'd made Hanbee come home with him, claiming he needed help finding some paperwork in his apartment -which was true, but not something he would have necessarily asked Hanbee to assist with. He just wanted to put off the silence for an hour more if he could help it.

But now that hour was up, and he crossed his arms as he blew a piece of his bangs out of his face. Somewhere, a clock ticked slowly, mockingly. Tapping his feet against the floor could only entertain him for so long before he felt like he was going to lose it, and he didn't much feeling sitting in silence and thinking. That never went anywhere good, though he'd never had this problem before.

Slowly, his gaze wandered to the small dining table. An innocent manila folder sat on the surface, face down. It almost looked like a placemat, and he'd prefer to pretend that it was. Thinking about its contents only made something strange happen in his gut -another feeling that he didn't have words for. But it wasn't like he was going to pull up a chair by one of his co-workers and have a talk about their  _feelings_ anyway.

He could just open it, feel the give and pull and tear of the paper as he wriggled his finger under the folded-over flap and dragged it across to yank it open. It would make a satisfying ripping noise and he'd smile for a moment, but that was it. Just a moment. He didn't actually want to read its contents. Not yet.

"Hrrgh-" Suzuya growled to himself, pushing off of the counter and grabbing a fork. Screw waiting three minutes for his noodles, he was going to eat them right that moment. He dug in, not even bothering to sit at the table. He burned his tongue and the noodles were still stiff in some places.

He did not open the envelope.

* * *

 

It was a holy beam of light. It flooded the dark chamber and illuminated its every filthy corner. Had he given in to delirium more, he would've believed that this was some form of rescue. It was the kind of light that would usher in a heavenly host, floating in on clouds of hymns that promised peace and salvation. Mutsuki covered his eyes with his hands protectively, unfit to gaze directly into such a display. He curled up and hid his face, lips set in a small frown.

"Saaaachi-chan~!" The voice bellowed from the door, a shadow occupying the opening and blocking out the light. He squinted tiredly at the silhouette.

This wasn't an angel, of course.

"Are you ready to be a good girl?"  _Girl._  The word cut him deeply, gouging through his uppermost layers and depositing a dense bullet of scorn and disgust in his gut. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear at the extra lace and frills on this ungodly pink frock and tell her that she was wrong. He wanted to-

"Get up, because mama's ready for dinner."

The cry of a wounded animal that had been building up in his throat died. When he didn't react quickly enough, she yanked him to his feet and began to drag him to the door -to that white heavenly light that was suddenly so cold.

"Tonight it's going to be  _extra fresh_."

He spent the next two hours trying to block out the screams.


	3. Handful of Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things continue to get worse...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally on summer break, so here's chapter three!!!! Thanks so much for the wonderful feedback and I hope you like this chapter!   
> Ah-- warnings for blood/gore. Basically one giant warning for gore in this whole fic.

> There is shadow under this red rock,
> 
> (Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
> 
> And I will show you something different from either
> 
> Your shadow at morning striding behind you
> 
> Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
> 
> I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
> 
> -TS Eliot, "The Waste Land"

 

* * *

 

 

                Somewhere, someone was scraping a knife. It had to be across the restaurant, far enough away that Akira couldn't hear it. But Sasaki could. It dragged across the exposed ceramic of an empty dish and screeched in his ears. To keep it from bothering him, he focused in on what she was saying. As she took a small sip of water, his gaze travelled down to her plate. Udon...vaguely, he noted that it was Mutsuki's favorite variation of the dish that she had ordered. Something numb stirred within him, half-awakened and yet still in denial. That had to be complete coincidence.

                "Are you hungry, Rank One Sasaki?" She asked, placing her glass down gently.

                "Hmm?" His gaze snapped quickly up to her face, "O-oh, no. I'm not."

                "Good," She hummed, picking up her chopsticks, "But you know what to do if you are."

                "Yes, yes."

                "Listen," She began again, picking up the conversation right where it had derailed, "I know this case is very personal for you, but I need you and your squad to maintain absolute objectivity. Failing that, you will be removed from the investigation -- _all_ of you." She took a bite and he ignored the oily scent of food that set his stomach on edge.

                "Yes, Ma'am!" He nodded, an obedient pet. It wasn't like he hadn't assumed all of this from the start. She was smart and she knew him well --knew that he had probably already reached that conclusion in his head but that saying it out loud to him would make it real.

                "Oh, and Associate Special Class Suzuya requested to help as well."

                "Really?" Now that had been something that he hadn't guessed. Not even close. "Even on top of his squad's duties in the Thirteenth Ward?"

                She nodded, "Really. I don't know what's gotten into him, but he is one of our top investigators, so it can't hurt to have him on the case. But Rank One Sasaki, I do have a small favor to ask of you..." Something hard and dark --like liquid obsidian rising to the surface of her eyes-- came to Sasaki's attention. Her gaze cleaved him in two, lips quirking into an elegant frown.

                "What is it?"

                She looked both as if she were having difficulty phrasing the request and as if she knew exactly what had to be said. "If Associate Special Class Suzuya begins behaving... _erratically_ on this case, please let me know immediately."

                "Of course!" He nodded, "But...is there something that I should know about all of this?"

                "Mmm..." She shook her head, swallowing a bite of the noodle dish and dabbing gently at the corner of her lips with a napkin. "Don't worry about anything else, Rank One. Just let me know if anything appears to be happening."

                Implications slid through his mind, spinning like a wheel of fortune. Just what kind of disaster would he land on next? Why would Akira be so aloof about this? The questions he would never give voice to rolled across his tongue before retreating back into his chest where they fluttered incessantly. If he was meant to know, she would tell him. He was sure. 

                "You shouldn't get your hopes up,"

                "Hmm?"

                "About the case," She clarified, "You shouldn't get your hopes up."

                "Ah..." He nodded, but it was too late. The grief that had settled thickly over his heart had been stirred, whirling around him in a disturbed cloud. He wondered how many times he could blame himself for the same thing. How many times he could say it was his fault. How many times the blame's place wouldn't undo what had happened.

                "He's missing in action," She took no pleasure in reminding him, "His file has him listed as 'presumed dead,' Sasaki. Even if we find what we're looking for...we have to expect that Rank Three Mutsuki has long been _d e c e a s e d_."

                Even with her prudence, the word seemed to distort in Sasaki's ears. Of course it was something that he knew. It was something he'd thought about so many times that it had become a stone worn smooth with worry. But out loud it sounded almost...unbelievable. Of course Sasaki often chose not to believe it. It was frequently that he felt compelled to knock on Mutsuki's door to let him know that dinner would be served soon. He walked past Mutsuki's old desk and thought to straighten it out, as if he would be needing it again soon. It had been months and yet time seemed not to have passed at all, like a surreal dream. How could someone be dead if they had no proof? This incomplete mourning settled over them like silt, the weight making his heart beat sluggishly.

                Ghouls had ripped everything from the boy: His family, his home, his stability, and now even his chance at being properly mourned and remembered. They had truly gutted the boy of everything. And yet he was only counted as collateral damage. He seemed to live alone, and now he died in the same way --erased. Not even a grave marker to visit.

                And Sasaki felt sick.

 

* * *

 

               

                The handle was slim and fit perfectly in his hands, as if tailor-made. His fingertips felt numb but also raw --like an exposed nerve. Everything in him screamed that this was wrong; that he should throw the object to the ground and fight this forced fate. But instead he stood still and stared down at it. The blade was newly buffed and polished, the distorted image of his exposed eye staring blankly back at him. There was a disconnect somewhere in his brain, internal wires rubbed raw and frayed until his own image didn't register as anything recognizable. Conceptually, he knew that it was him. But at the same time, he didn't.  

                The only thing that seemed to make sense to him was the pain. It seethed in his stomach, collapsing in under its own weight and forming a void. Even as he stared down as his broken image, his real attention was devoted to the feeling of being empty. At least _that_ he could immediately make sense of. How long had it been since he was fed? He couldn't remember. Big Madam's servants usually slipped him a bit of bread and water, but lately he had feared that they were going to starve him out. The knife should have frightened him, but really all he could bring himself to think was: _So hungry, so hungry, so hungry, so hungry._

                The basement still swallowed him whole, daylight alluding him again and again as he was led deeper below. There was a small door leading to some kind of sub-basement. Numbly, he took stock of it as they passed through, remembering and performing his duties as an investigator. He clung to that like a small beacon in the dark. He had nobody to report to but himself. But if he didn't have anything like that, he was sure he would lose it. So he observed. He observed and waited until he _would_ have someone to report to.

                He had to at least let himself hope for that much.

                It was clear that something was happening when he had been fetched from the darkness and dressed up in a fine lace frock. Madam herself had picked out the ensemble, the candy-hued fabrics making Mutsuki feel sick to his stomach. The pristine white tights and bow in his hair spoke volumes of the farce he was forced to live. And now the lace dress sleeves itched at his skin as he stared numbly down at the instrument of torture in his hands. The madam's servant had led him to a small chamber deep below the manor where the air was cold and thin.

                Without warning, a heavy door was pulled open and he was shoved through. The mouth of the doorway opened into a large pentagonal chamber. The walls were lined with concrete, the floor slanted diagonally downward and toward a metal-grated drain in the center. Some feet up, the cement wall ended and revealed a raised seating space. The seats were about fifteen feet above the floor, overlooking the room like an ancient arena --a theater which Mutsuki was certain held horrors. The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding crack.

                "P-please! Help-- help me!" A voice shrieked, causing Mutsuki to jump.

                "Wh-wha..." His voice was small and shaky from disuse.

                A young woman lay crumpled on the cement floor, the hot tracks of tears running down her face in ribbons. She couldn't be older than a high schooler, stylish pins displaced in her silken hair. Skin bruised and dress torn, she was already bleeding from her hands and it was with horror that Mutsuki realized she had been clawing at the door trying to get out.

                "P-please--!" She begged once more, sobbing.

                "What...? ....what...?" He wasn't capable of saying much of anything. He just stared, knife hanging limply in his grasp.

                "Ohohoho~! It's time to begin the show!" Big Madam's voice boomed from above, causing them to jerk their heads up to look. She fanned herself lazily as she entered the seating area above, followed by a small company of opulently-dressed ghouls in masks. They peered down at the two humans, mouths curling up into curious grins. A gem brooch affixed to Big Madam's chest, gleaming sharply down at them like a third eye. The force of their gazes bore down on Mutsuki and the girl alike, pinning them to the dirty concrete like butterflies with wings tacked. They were still alive, hearts fluttering violently against the force, all powdered and paper thin. They tore at the edges the more that they thrashed.

                "Sh-show...?" He repeated the world, voice hollow.

                "Tonight I have something very special for you all!" Madam enthused, fanning herself ostentatiously. "This meat is very young and tender! It'll melt right off the bone!"

                "M-meat?!" The young girl shrieked in horror, the situation only just beginning to fully dawn on her. She had been caged like a wild animal for a while, Mutuski could tell. But it must never have occurred to her for what purpose.

                "And!" She continued as if the girl hadn't said anything at all, "My newest prize, sweet little Sachi-chan here, will be our scrapper tonight!"

                The ghouls gazed down at them in amused curiosity, some of them clapping though the sound was unnoticed by Mutsuki. He was completely frozen, staring disconnectedly at the knife in his hands.

                "Cut her up, Sacchan!" Madam ordered with a wide indulgent smile.

                "Y-you--!" The young girl turned on Mutsuki with horror in her eyes. Big wet tears began anew and she backed away. "You're going t-to-- to _kill_ me? Y-you're a ghoul, too! You're--!"

                "N-no!" He snapped out of it, jerking his head up quickly to look at her. Approaching her slowly, he tried to keep his voice calm and low, "I'm not. I'm not a ghoul. I'm--"

                "Get away from me!" She screamed, lashing out at him with fists squeezed shut.

                He barely had the energy to dodge, still trying to calm her down. "You're scared right now, I know. I--I am too." God, he was _terrified_. He couldn't think of a single way this could end with them both surviving.

                "GO, SACCHAN!" Big Madam bellowed from above. The noise seemed to jolt the teen girl, who then lunged at Mutsuki again.

                "I won't let you kill me!" She insisted, tackling him to the ground.

                "A--augh!" The back of his head connected with the stained pavement, making a crunching noise he could hardly believe. His vision blurred for a moment, blanking out. "Haaah..."

                "I can't die! I won't die!" She shrieked, pinning him down.

                "Sacchan! Don't let me down!" The ire was growing in Big Madam's voice.

                All of the noise filled his head and he couldn't move.

                "I-I'm not--" He tried to speak again but the girl smacked him across the face with an open palm, gritting her teeth. He was so tired. Too tired to move. Too tired to fight back. So for a moment he let the buzzing fill his skull, his head still reeling from the impact. She hit him over and over and he didn't lift a finger in protest. Instead he only closed his eyes. Distantly, he could hear disapproving voices.

                "I WON'T DIE!" The girl's voice frothed with fury, her fists battering rams. "I AM NOT GOING TO DIE HERE! I'M NOT MEAT! I'M NOT! I'M--" The sentence cut off with a yelp, her weight suddenly vanishing from on top of him.

                The fingers of gore suddenly raked across his skin, blood splattering into a pretty little pattern over the apples of his cheeks. It was warm like a freshly drawn bath and brought with it a cloud of iron scent that left his stomach quivering. The girl was screaming a different kind of scream. A _funny_ kind of scream, as if all of the air couldn't escape from her lungs in time. She _gurgled_ and the noise forced Mutsuki's eyes open once more.

                He sat up and what he saw didn't make sense. Her feet no longer touched the floor, body dangling and swaying like a witch from the gallows. A new stain decorated the dappled concrete, blood dripping from her body in rhythmic little drops. Those blunt broken fingernails of hers clawed fruitlessly at the hardened skin of the ghoul servant who held her up so high, deft hands around her small throat. Captive, like a treacherous queen. Stained by battle. A backwards fairytale.

                But it was also like none of that.

                She was just a girl.

                "N-no--!" The voice was hoarse and clipped, but it tore from his throat just the same. Mutsuki struggled to his feet, swaying. "P-please, don't--" He had to do something! And yet anything that could have helped him evaded his grasp. Once again, that organ transplanted to his lower back refused his desperate beck and call.

                No kagune. No kagune. No kagune. No kagune. No kagune. No use. He was _useless_. He was--

                He dove for the knife he'd dropped, rolling back to his feet and holding it in a way that felt familiar. Why was it so familiar? Oh right, Ifraft and Abskol. Fear buzzed through him as he realized how distant the names of his own quinque sounded to him. He tore forward, blade slashing up at the ghoul. But it merely bounced off their reinforced skin, bending in half from the force of impact.

                Of course. There was a reason they'd taken his quinque. It was so that they could control him. So that he couldn't fight. This was futile from the start. He realized that with horror, eyes wide as a blow to the gut throttled him across the floor. Gagging and retching, his body came to a stop about ten feet from them.

                "N-no--no! No! No!" The words were barely audible and he reached toward the girl, the scent of his own blood gathering thickly around him.

                A crack.

                Her gurgling stopped.

                He thought he screamed, but he couldn't be sure.

                Big Madam's voice only reached him faintly, the words not fully registering. "I paid good money for you and you're pissing me off!" She bemoaned dangerously, "It won't happen again."

                And Mutsuki felt sick. 

               


	4. Gold/Clean (The Laughing Man)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food. Food. Food. (Food?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh sorry this took so long! I am not abandoning this fic, I promise. 
> 
> But I just have to say huge warnings in this chapter for cannibalism, gore, um...emetophobia....ahaha.... So yeah, just be aware and be safe kiddos! 
> 
> Enjoy!

> It was not Death, for I stood up,   
>  And all the Dead, lie down –   
>  It was not Night, for all the Bells   
>  Put out their Tongues, for Noon. 
> 
> ...And yet, it tasted, like them all,   
>  The Figures I have seen   
>  Set orderly, for Burial,   
>  Reminded me, of mine –   
>    
>  As if my life were shaven,   
>  And fitted to a frame,   
>  And could not breathe without a key...
> 
> -Emily Dickinson, "It was not Death, for I stood up"             

 

                Vending machines were always such sensual experiences. They were so tactile; the cold jingle of coins against fingertips, the crumple of paper money straightened as it is rubbed back and forth across a pant leg. Visually, the colors jumped out and begged to be looked at, LED display lights blinking harshly in the late afternoon light. And of course all of this ultimately led to the satisfying  _thud_ as the food fell to the bottom of the machine and the scents and tastes that followed. It was always a small chain of events that Suzuya savored, and this afternoon was no exception. It had been a long day filled with some of the finest reminders of how futile investigatory work felt at times and he was ready for a damn snack.

                As per usual, the package of cookies landed with a light _thump_ and Suzuya fished it out with eager fingers. The next step in the process was his absolute favorite. The bag opened crisply and he popped one in his mouth with a satisfying crunch. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes. The taste was familiar, one of his favorite kinds of cookies. A crisp vanilla outer shell with a creamy chocolate filling, it had been a long time since he had that particular sweet. When had he last...

                _Oh._

                Abruptly, Suzuya stopped chewing.

                The cellophane wrapping was tied together at the top with a neat little ribbon, pretty as a valentine gift though it was only November. They were still gearing up for the ghoul auction and a chill was in the air that made them pull their coats a little tighter. Suzuya blinked down at the package where it perched across his open palms. Nervously, Mutsuki fiddled with his tie and worked himself up to a sheepish smile.

                "I-it's a thank you gift," The boy managed, releasing his poor mangled tie, "Sassan told me your favorite sweets and I went out and got them for you. Your lessons have helped me a lot and I wanted to thank you for volunteering to do the auction with me. It's really--" He paused, chewing his lip self-consciously before continuing, "It really means a lot to me...th-that I don't have to do this alone."

                For a moment, Suzuya just blinked at him with wide eyes. But then he tore into the package and fished out the small pack of cookies with an enthusiastic grin, "You really did get my favorites! Haise knows just the right ones! You want one?" The opened package was offered and Mutsuki nodded.

                "Thank you, Suzuya." He took only one, popping it into his mouth and smiling sheepishly. "I'm glad you like it!"

                Suzuya continued to sift through the bag, "Ahh...you got the chocolate with the almond, too. That's a good one. Hanbee buys those for me sometimes."

                "You seem really hungry," Mutsuki remarked, "Did you skip lunch?"

                "Mmm-hmm," Suzuya nodded, "And breakfast."

                "Wh-what? Why?"

                "Slept in," Suzuya explained with a partially-full mouth, "And at lunch Hanbee dropped my food and we didn't have time to get more."

                For a moment he was quiet, pursing his lips and thinking. And then: "It's almost time to go home for the day. Why don't I make you dinner?"

                And of course, how could Suzuya pass up on an offer like that?

                A little over an hour later, Suzuya was watching as Mutsuki rummaged around his kitchen cupboards with a gleam of determination in his exposed eye. Suzuya scanned the odds and ends stacked on the counter, old things he'd purchased at the store and then forgotten. One can of soup sat next to a bag of rice, an aging bunch of bananas perched precariously on top. Mutsuki hummed, dismayed.

                "Is...is instant ramen all you really have?"

                "Mmm? Yeah, probably."

                "I...I didn't know..."

                Suzuya just shrugged.

                With a sigh, Mutsuki set a pot on to boil. "I can make this work,"

                Minutes later, two blocks of noodles plunged into the boiling water. They were followed by chopped green onion and carrots, two eggs cracked into the water for good measure. Mutsuki set the timer and then leaned back against the counter with a sheepish smile.

                "You add stuff?" Suzuya raised an eyebrow.

                "Yeah, of course. That's what makes it a meal." Mutsuki enthused, "Why...do you not?"

                Suzuya just shrugged, "Nah, usually just toss it in the water and wait."

                "Ahh...that's...well, that works." Mutsuki nodded, "But try this, too!"

                Not long after, Suzuya discovered that maybe he had been making ramen wrong. They ate together, actually getting to talk about non-work related things for once. Mutsuki cleaned their dishes himself after, insisting that it was the least that he could do. Even as he scrubbed at the dishes, he had a smile on his face. That was the last time Suzuya saw him before the auction.

                Mutsuki was so clean, _radiant_ almost. He held the kind of pure intentions that Suzuya had feared had died with Shinohara --a name he still struggled to say. Not a drop of vengeance could be found within him, as Suzuya had determined. He seemed only to want to protect people. Maybe he was timid and physically weak, but he might as well have had a halo hanging low and golden above his head.

                But nothing gold can stay.

* * *

 

                There was a spot on the wall. Usually it was shaped like nothing in particular, Mutsuki's eyes searching it up and down for some meaning to assign to it. It was lopsided, resisting any kind of logical narrative. A stain. It was just an ugly stain on an otherwise blank cement wall. It had no meaning or purpose. It was just there.

                _It's funny..._ Mutsuki thought to himself disjointedly, gaze fixed upon that meaningless stain once more. He had no choice but to look, body held down by force. Big Madam was far too heavy for him to break free. After all, she was using her own body looming over him to keep him in place. He wasn't sure what she was going to do, a large lace bag sitting on the floor next to him. It smelled strange, and he lie there wondering why he wasn't more frightened than he was. He just kept staring up at the stain, realizing that the shape was beginning to make more sense from this angle, upside-down.

                Only when the bag was opened did the smell hit him in full. It was something just on this side of putrid, making him wrinkle his nose on instinct. She drove one of her hands into the bag, her lips splitting into a smile that once made his heart practically stop but now only filled him with a numb sense of dread. _Plip...plip...plip plip plip..._ There was a dripping sound and a moist squishing as she brought her hand up and into his line of sight. A hunk of slick red flesh was squeezed in her fist, bulging from between her fingers. It was raw, and Mutsuki knew the source.

                "Open wide, my pet." Her voice dripped like poisoned honey.

                And suddenly, Mutsuki could feel again.

                "N-no--no--" He shook his head, heart rate rocketing. This was new. "Th-they usually just-- slide some bread and water through the door and--"

                "Ah, ah, ah." She scolded, her free hand clamping down over his mouth to silence him. "This is for me, my pet. I need you as strong as possible, and that can only happen one way, you know."

                "Mm--mmmph--mmmrf--!" He wriggled futilely beneath her, thrashing with furrowed brows as reality began to cast its shadow over him. She moved to roughly grab his chin in her hand and force his jaw open, jamming the chunk of meat into his mouth. He gagged, choking as the bloody juices ran down his chin and the sides of his cheeks.

                _No. No. No. No. **No.**_

                Sputtering desperately, he began to attempt to spit the sticky mass of flesh back up. The taste in his mouth was coppery and rancid and the pressure of her hand on his jaw was too much.

                "Don't make this hard on me, my pet." She warned, using both of her hands to hold his mouth shut and force him to chew. The blood and viscera ground into a rich coagulated paste in the back of his mouth. He could refuse to swallow. He _would_ refuse to swallow. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be. This mass of indiscernible meat in his mouth had a family. A name. A favorite place to go. A hobby. A pet. A best friend. A--

                "Mmrph--aaaugh--!" He gagged, unable to fully open his mouth. Gravity was forcing the meat down his throat and it cut off his windpipe. So she'd had him lying down for a reason.

                "Swallow!" She commanded, one hand pinching his nose and cutting off all airflow. "Swallow, or no breathing!"

                "Mm--mmff--!" He struggled, tear-filled eyes fixed on the stain. The edges of the shape blurred and fuzzed, slowly transforming and re-molding before his eyes.

                He was going to die.

                The thought passed through with a very mild casualness about it. It didn't stir the pot or send deep wavering ripples through the surface of his consciousness. It was just there, plain fact without any maliciousness. He couldn't breathe, and he was going to die. It wasn't as if it made a difference, really. His squad had probably already mourned him, his name filed away in a list of the dead in CCG headquarters. He was just collateral damage, an investigator sent to the slaughterhouse the moment he was volunteered to be their bait. They had been fully prepared to lose him, and to them he was already dead. He was a sacrificial lamb with a broken halo. Maybe they had been okay to part with him because he hadn't been that promising, he didn't have the brute strength of Urie or the bombastic stamina of Shirazu. No, he was a dead boy walking. And nobody expected him to return. _He_ didn't expect to return, if he was really honest with himself.

                _It didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter anymore._

                But then--

                He swallowed.

                He was weak. He hated himself. He didn't deserve to return home.

                He deserved to die, to vanish forever.

                "There! That wasn't so hard was it, my pet?" Big Madam purred above him and he couldn't feel anything again. He was already dead, he decided.

                The process was repeated again and again, though he wasn't sure for how long it went on. Maybe forever. Finally he was left alone to jam his own fingers down his throat in the dark.  Even after purging himself of the evil, he would never feel clean again. Sobs tore from his throat and he felt disconnected from the noise, like hearing an injured animal somewhere in the woods. He didn't want to follow the sound.

                He'd finally figured out that the stain on the wall looked like a laughing man.


	5. Fear and Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ME ME ME ME (BLAME ME)
> 
> Warnings for cannibalism! Also for emetophobia! 
> 
> We're just chugging right along, kiddos!

               The coffee in his cup was hot, but he could already feel his blood running cold. It didn't take long for him to figure out the direction in which this was going, and he didn't like it. Akira set her own cup down on the table, sliding a folder toward Sasaki. She was still speaking but suddenly he couldn't hear the words.

                "...Sasaki? Rank One Sasaki?" She questioned, tilting her head at him.

                "Yes, yes! I'm listening, sorry." He nodded apologetically but she didn't look convinced.

                "I want you to read this over as soon as possible." She tapped the folder with one manicured finger, "This case needs to be dealt with immediately. I know you're working on the other case as well, but for now this new one takes priority."

                "Akira--"

                "No, Rank One." She shut him down without hesitation, "These are your orders.  This case is taking top priority. There have been too many civilian deaths and we cannot let it keep happening. The public is beginning to notice and we can't have a panic on our hands."

                He gripped at his coffee mug as if it could anchor him even when the tide pressed against him until it was stifling. Civilian lives were in the balance with whatever this new case was, he understood that. But he also understood the weight of what this meant: The possible abandonment of their efforts to find Big Madam. The possible abandonment of their squad member. The possibility of turning their backs on someone who needed them.

                _Someone who might be dead_ , an awful voice in the back of Sasaki's head reminded him.

                He sighed, looking back at her with determination, "I understand. I really do. I will read this over immediately. But...if it isn't too much to say, I am confident that we can handle both cases at once. We're a strong team and we don't have to pick and choose, even if we must prioritize. I--"

                She held up a hand to silence him, something softer behind her gaze than he was expecting. "I'm not asking you to abandon your first case, Sasaki." Gently, she rested a hand on his tense shoulder. If there was a way to smile without smiling, she'd found it. "Your first case is still of enormous importance to the CCG...and to your squad. I understand that. I'm only asking you to prioritize. Can _you_ understand that?"

                He nodded slowly, "Yes..." A strange kind of shame washed over him, as if he was a child that had just been on the verge of some kind of tantrum. He wasn't, of course. His voice hadn't even risen one bit. But she had a way of pinning him down with her eyes, softer as they were now, that made him bend to her command. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

                "It's alright," She nodded, all business again, "Just make sure you read up and bring your squad to the meeting listed in the first page of the file. It should be tomorrow morning."

                "Will do!"

                She grabbed her coffee and turned to leave, hesitating a moment before turning back to face him, "Oh, and Rank One?"

                "Yes?"

                "Remember what I said in the restaurant, before. That still applies."

                The clicking of her heels grew distant but Sasaki could hear it ringing on his ears as if she were stepping on his temples. The file was thick, and if he wasn't mistaken this must have been the case surrounding a particularly nasty ghoul responsible for at least seven gruesome killings in the past month. It was an important case to be assigned, to say the least. But something in his stomach was uneasy, churning churning churning until he felt the need to grab the counter for support.

                That's right, if they didn't make proper progress on Big Madam's case, it would be shelved.  Set on the backburner. Left to collect dust. That's what Akira had meant. This was the CCG, and they didn't waste their time chasing ghosts. Vaguely, Sasaki wondered if this was worry that was upsetting his stomach this way. Or maybe he was hungry? Maybe he should have asked her about the time of his next feeding session?

                But the thought just made him more sick.

 

* * *

 

                The awful retching noise was familiar now, guttural and laced with pain as it left Mutsuki's mouth. Each feeding session seemed worse than the last, Big Madam holding him down and cooing with the soft edge of a threat in her voice. Her praise left him feeling cold and he couldn't even bring himself to cry anymore.

                It was one of those times, a gap of loneliness after she left his side and bolted the door shut. One of those times when he crouched on his hands and knees and wished that it would end. It burned when the indiscernible viscera made a reappearance to decorate the floor in bile and blood. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. He was sick. He was sick. He was sick. He was sick. And he had to purge himself of this evil in his gut before it festered and took root. Before it became a part of him.

                Before it started to taste good.

 

* * *

 

 

                Saiko watched the tension unfolding, peeking over her PSP from where she reclined on the living room couch. Nervously, she paused her game as she couldn't ignore the argument any longer. It was nearly two in the morning and she had been sitting downstairs with Shirazu. The television had been on but he hadn't seemed to really be watching it. She hadn't known that he had been waiting for someone.

                "I don't understand you. I don't understand you at all." Shirazu's hands curled into fists, his posture stiff as he faced Urie. "What were you doing out so late alone? Investigating by yourself?"

                Urie stared, seemingly emotionless, "Let me through,"

                "No!" Shirazu insisted, "It's like you haven't changed at all! We need you to join us! We would work better as a team!" He placed a hand on Urie's shoulder as if somehow it would help him get through to him, to chip away at the wall that Urie had raised for himself brick by brick. "We've got nothing! Absolutely nothing on Mutsuki's case. You know this!"

                _Mutsuki's case_. That's what he called it. Didn't he know anything? The case was about Big Madam, not Mutsuki. Didn't he know that? Urie couldn't stand it, the messiness of feeling. The big bleeding heart that Shirazu threw around so freely. It was irritating.

                Without hesitation, Urie shrugged Shirazu's hand off with distaste. "I work better alone." There was a quiet finality to his tone, not taking Shirazu's emotionally-charged bait.

                "Yikes!" Saiko squeaked, watching with raised eyebrows as Shirazu grabbed Urie by the collar and shoved him against the living room wall.

                "I don't understand!" Shirazu repeated, voice rising and snarling out of his throat, "I don't understand how you can act like this! How you can act like it doesn't matter!"

                Urie just stared, face unreadable as Shirazu took out his aggression.

                "I don't understand how you haven't changed at all when it's your fault this happened to him!"

                Ah.

                There it was.

                Suddenly, Shirazu was on the floor with blood pouring from his nose. Urie didn't even remember raising his fist, but it must have happened. Saiko watched with wide, horrified eyes before leaping up from the couch and coming to Shirazu's aid. Shirazu covered his nose with one hand, making an ineffective attempt to keep the blood from dribbling onto the carpet.

                Blame, blame, blame, blame. Urie shouldered it, carried it like a wound. On many days he could ignore it, but at night the memories came crashing back. Didn't they realize that this case wasn't about Mutsuki? Didn't they realize that they were putting too much false hope into this? Like the CCG was actually going to go after one of their fallen. This was all about the ghouls and it always had been. After all, they didn't do everything they could have for his father. And now they weren't doing everything that they could for Mutsuki. They had been prepared to dispose of him from the start.

                But had Urie?

                Was he just as bad?

                Suddenly words were leaving his mouth, a knee-jerk reaction. A way to deflect.

                "This wouldn't have happened to him if he were stronger." He muttered, flexing his fist absently.

                ( _This wouldn't have happened to him if I were stronger_.) It echoed in his ears, unspoken.

                At that, Shirazu leapt back up from where he sat stunned on the floor. "URIE, YOU FUCKIN' BASTARD!"

                Shirazu tackled him, knocking him to the floor and bringing a side-table with them. Books and files scattered to the floor as he landed a solid punch to Urie's face. He kept shouting, his heart thundering in his ears. Saiko froze, unsure of what to do at all. She watched in abject horror as the two fought, all snarling fists and spitting insults. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. It couldn't be--

                "Hey, hey! What's-- what's going on?" Sasaki ran down the stairs, eyes widening in confusion as he took in the scene. He was wearing his pajamas, hair mussed from sleep.

                "M-maman--!" Saiko called, voice wavering.

                Immediately, Sasaki leapt into action. With alarm in his eyes, he lunged forward to grab at the back of Shirazu's shirt. He yanked, arms flexing with the effort. Finally, he pulled the two young men apart, both bloodied.

                "What on earth are you two doing?!" Sasaki questioned, tone stern.

                There were tears in Shirazu's eyes.

 

* * *

                Urie punched the bag. It swung back heavily before pitching forward again. Urie punched it again. The training room was empty, but his head was not. And he was going to punch that bag until his fists gave out or his head emptied or he sank into oblivion or the world ended.

                Whichever came first.

                Strong enough. Strong enough. Strong enough. Strong enough.

                Why couldn't he just be strong enough?!

                Why couldn't he just _fucking_ be strong enough?!

                Why was he never enough?

                Urie punched the bag.

                Mutsuki's eyes had been wide, two wells brimming with fear. Fear, and something else. Something that had been blurry to Urie at the time but now was crystal clear.

                Fear, and _compassion_.

                (What an idiot.)

                **ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME THIS IS FUNNNNN! (HELLO!!) ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME I'M STRONG I'M STRONGGG! (HELLO!) ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME( TOO MUCH ME!!) ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME**

                Nothing made sense in frame four, nothing but the strength that ran through his veins like fire.  But even that distorted. By the time he was awoken in Mutuski's embrace, his squad-mate's blood mixed with the ghoul blood on his hands. Had he...hurt Mutsuki? But the words coming from the boy's mouth weren't unkind. Something new sliced Urie through and through.

                Urie punched the bag.

                Oh, but he was so close to his prize. _Big Madam._ She was right there and here he was in tears with a runaway power that he couldn't use properly. A power that was too much and yet not enough. (Incompetent.) Mutsuki's kagune withdrew, all shining scales and rabbit-hearted love, and suddenly Urie was staring down the barrel of Big Madam's scornful gaze. She was going to attack. And help was  not coming. Mutsuki wanted to run run run but how could he let that happen? How could he when the prize was right there? When he had something to prove? When they couldn't run fast enough even if they tried? Urie could hardly stand, still seated firmly on the dirty concrete with Mutsuki by his side. But he would have to fight, wouldn't he? Unsteadily, he rose. But time and time again he was knocked down, Big Madam's movements just too hard to track in his state of exhaustion.

                Every taut fiber of muscle screamed at him, urging him to fight, to run, to lay down and die as the pain and exhaustion wore him thin to the breaking. Oh. Oh. _Oh._ So that was his limit. That was the edge of who he was. The edge of his ability. That was it. He'd found it, and it was very anticlimactic. His body slumped to the ground, a bloody pulp. It was embarrassing, really. _I can still fight. I can still fight. I can still fight. **(I can not fight.)**_

                But then suddenly, Mutsuki was in front of him.

                The blood splattered backwards and onto Urie's face, but it made no difference. He was already soaked. The only difference was that this blood smelled different. Mutsuki had blocked a blow, a small noise of pain wrenching from his mouth. Urie tilted his head, barely slitting his eyes open to see Mutsuki's form standing, back to Urie, with arms outstretched protectively. The idiot was speaking --no, begging. Mutsuki's smaller body was held weakly upright, favoring his left side quite a bit. But his stance was wide and his head was held high. The sound of his voice reached Urie, but not most of the words. A bargain was being struck, but Urie couldn't hear the terms.

                And then they were gone.

                It was with numb surprise that Urie noted that he had knocked the punching bag clean off its stand.

 

* * *

 

             

                 He was so tired. Exhaustion weighed him down, a mask of lethargy spread thickly across his skin. The room was cold, but Mutsuki didn't care because he was just _so tired_. It had been a long time since he'd laid across a bed. The pillows were lacy and reminded him of a child's dollhouse. The bed was soft, but he just couldn't get comfortable. After so much time spent on the cement floor,               he couldn't remember what he was supposed to do in a bed. The furniture was supposedly a gift, a reward for being a good little pet.

                Sometimes he thought about how good it would feel to dismantle it bolt by bolt.

                He had healed so many times and it always made him so hungry. Hungry and tired were all he ever felt anymore, he thought. Emotions were beginning to lose their meaning. Big Madam was _training_ him again, but her regimen was diversifying. Sometimes she brought out the knife like before and etched angrily into his skin to watch it heal back over again and again, sometimes it was a bit more special than that. More gruesome and creative.

                The day before had been a _special_ day.

                Or had it been that morning?

                Time had also begun to lose meaning.

                It was funny, how much she hurt him and how much he just let her do it. It was so damn funny that he wanted to laugh, but he couldn't find his voice. So the man on the wall did it for him and he let him. It wasn't polite to tell someone to stop laughing. He traced the outline of the laughing man with his eyes and numbly listened to the footsteps approaching the locked door from outside. He already knew who it was.

                "Oh sweetheart!" Big Madame's lips were wet and thick with lipstick as they pressed against his cheek. A bruise had blossomed across the apple, and he knew the pressure on it should have hurt him but he couldn't feel it. She cooed something meant to be soothing but it itched at his ears, too saccharine. He couldn't quite hear the words, but he could feel it when she slipped a knife into his hands.

                It was dinner time and he was about to meet the catch of the day.


	6. It Came Down Like Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It came down like rain. 
> 
> He was finally afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo ! Long time no update and I'm sorry. But is anyone really surprised? ;o; 
> 
> anyways, warning for blood/gore/etc. nothing you wouldn't see in canon ! also warning for mentions of vomiting ! 
> 
> hugs n kisses !!!

 

                It came down like rain, but it was red. Somebody screamed but it hardly reached Saiko's ears. She was trembling and firm, a contradiction with tiny fists wrapped around her quinque. She ran after Shirazu and Urie, hoping only to keep up and pull her weight. (And to keep that red rain from being made of them.) Their target had sniffed them out, the whole operation becoming a chase. Their squad had united with the S1 squad and one other squad that Saiko couldn't remember at the moment. There was a sickening slick spot on the floor and she skidded forward, nearly losing her balance. Blood, blood, it would be blood. She knew it would be blood. She didn't want to look. She couldn't look. She shook and gasped and ran, a nervous churning sensation in her gut that made her fear she was going to throw up.

                "I can head west and cut him off at the alley," Hairu insisted, her feet pounding confidently on the pavement. Saiko wasn't sure what to make of her just yet, but she wanted to like her. She smiled as if she knew something Saiko didn't, batting her bedroom eyes at the prospect of deserved bloodshed.

                Hairu was supposed to have been the bait, meeting the suspect and chatting him up in her slinky black dress. _Casanova_ was what they were calling him, the ghoul with the handsome face and bulging body count. But he had the good sense to notice something was wrong as soon as they exited the bar together. He was an intuitive one, she had to give him that. Now that black dress was bunching up under her coat as she ran, but it didn't matter. She had a goal to reach.

                He'd taken out nearly the entire third volunteer squad in his initial desperation to get away, breaking through their u-shaped formation with a ferocity that bordered on childish. Afraid, is what he was. Or at least, that's what she would say if she felt it was worth her time to attribute those feelings to ghouls. Which it wasn't. Not when she had a mess to clean up. Not when he razed through her comrades, cutting them down like weeds and leaving them to fester on the pavement. It didn't matter who was afraid and who wasn't.

                Saiko struggled to keep up and she could feel Shirazu's encouraging gaze, but she didn't want to meet it. Not yet. Sasaki's voice sounded distant in her ears as he ordered them to double around the building and block off the alley's entrance. Hairu and a few others --blurred faces Saiko couldn't tell apart through her hammering heartbeats-- broke off to circle around the back. Saiko imagined them scaling the buildings, climbing to the roof, combing the underground. Like hunting dogs.

                "Everyone be careful!" Sasaki commanded, wielding his quinque as if it were a natural-born limb.

                "Y-yes, Maman!" She nodded, voice only shaking a little.

                They fanned out like hounds, nipping at the tail of their prize. The mouth of the alley was narrow and darkening quickly as dusk gathered its skirts to make room for night. She squinted, but couldn't see. Sniffing at the air, a frown grew on her face.

                "Ah...Maman...I don't think..."

                "Shit!" A voice called from the other side of the alley, a foot stamping bitterly.

                The alley was empty, she could smell it. Judging by the look on Sasaki's face, she could tell that he knew it too. She swallowed, eyes falling to the pavement as the other investigators emerged from the alley with lowly grumbling voices. Had they lost him? Was Casanova really so smooth?

                Her boots were scuffed, the black scratched grey on the edges. Mixed in was red and her eyes watered at the sight. _Oh._ So she _had_ stepped in someone. And it had been for nothing. Her quinque weighed too heavily in her hands before it came clattering to the ground.

 

* * *

 

 

               

The knife weighed too heavily in his hands before he wiped it off with a crisp white linen. He blinked down at it blankly and imagined it clattering to the floor, the weight lifted and leaving him somehow unshackled. He couldn't remember how the blood got there, or whose it was. (It wasn't a question of _what_ it was anymore.)

                 He wasn't sure, but he could vaguely remember slicing meat. It was a robotic process, his self absent from his body. Remote. That was a good word for it, he supposed. It was a good word for how he was doing everything. Even breathing didn't feel so rooted in his body anymore. A body was a burden. A body had to stay there, in that room, in that _dress_. A body couldn't float out the window and down the road.

                But his mind could.

                He rendered flesh from bone and he thought about the moon. Eclipses. Nebulae. Stardust. He thought about marigolds opening wide and he thought about the sun pouring over them. He hadn't felt the sun in a while, but that was for the body. His head was content with just the image and that would have to do. Sometimes he rolled his own name around in his head, the edges growing worn and old until it felt antique. He hadn't heard it spoken in so long.

                The blood splattered off the blade despite his best efforts and nearly stained his pearly white ballet flats. He blinked down at it blankly and wondered at the ocean. It was bluer than blue, he remembered. Nearly black. So was this blood. It glistened in the light and he stared. Sometimes he felt like the ocean, his rivers of blood sloshing together into something otherworldly and terrifying. Mostly, he felt tired.

                Big Madam rested a hand on his shoulder and kissed the top of his head, like a child would a favorite toy.

 

* * *

               

                 "Big madam is still a top target on the CCG's list," Akira continued, but Sasaki suddenly felt as though he couldn't hear. Her voice was hollow and something in his ear itched. He contemplated scratching at it, his fingers twitching at his sides.

                "Akira..." He exhaled, frozen in the hallway. Had she chosen such a public place to pull him aside in case he was tempted to make a scene?

                Well, was he?

                "Our current focus is the Casanova case. It's a bloodbath, Haise." She pointed out, but it didn't look like she gleaned much enjoyment from it. "The operation on Friday was a failure, and with a body count like his, this is unacceptable."

                Sasaki nodded numbly, suddenly having trouble keeping his eyes focused on her face, as if he was filled up with noise. Static. The fuzzy snow on a broken television screen. "Is there a chance he will be lying too low to catch now? Or that he's--"

                "Aogiri?" She finished for him, "He may not join them, even if they _did_ try to recruit. He seems to be headstrong and narcissistic. He doesn't play well with others, from what we can tell. But we don't think he'll be slipping into obscurity, if that's what you mean. S1 Squad has some evidence that he may not be _able_ to."

                "What?"

                She offered him a manila envelope, fingers poised and delicate around the brown paper. "Read up, Haise."

                "Yes," If he was good at anything, it was being obedient. The thought made him twitch.

                Maybe he wasn't as good at that as he thought, actually.

                "Oh, but Haise...as I was trying to say..."

                Oh no. He could feel where this was going and he _hated it_.

                "We're being taken off the Big Madame case so we can focus our energies here." Her face was all delicate lines, chin held high and silken hair falling softly. She was unreadable. She had officially shut him out for the moment. She was beautiful like that. She was awful like that, too. "Realistically," She continued, something softer slipping into her voice despite her countenance, "Her case will be retired until any new leads are caught."

                " _Oh_ ," He spoke quietly, unsurprised. It wasn't anything he hadn't expected. It just was something he hadn't wanted.

                "Just read the file, Haise. It will make sense, I promise. This case could actually help you. You'll understand."

                "Oh, I understand." Mutsuki Tooru was collateral damage. Mutsuki Tooru was disposable from the start. Mutsuki Tooru meant nothing in the grand scheme. Maybe Mutsuki Tooru was dead. Maybe worse. But it had never been about him, as much as they tried to make it so. It was always about business.

                So he shut her out in return.

 

* * *

 

                 

                Oh, light. Oh, light. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the light. The light he craved was specific. Artificial light had a thin heat that left him wanting. It reminded him that he was in a place of suspended reality. This wasn't the sun and he wasn't a girl. This wasn't his home and he wasn't free. Nothing that happened in that zone felt real. He laid down in the darkened room and held his hand up above his face. His fingers moved, but they didn't feel attached to his body. They felt foreign, as if he could reach up and pluck the tender little fingers off one by one and not feel a thing. It was an ugly thing to entertain, littering the concrete with severed digits and the delicate lace pattern of blood. He wiggled his fingers above his face and thought, thought, thought. But he didn't act.

                He was hungry. But he wasn't hungry. There was an odd little limbo that he occupied in the darkness. Somewhere between his skin and the ceiling, he floated. Purgatory, he supposed. But the word was flavorless in his mouth. There was something that his body craved, which his mind denied. It didn't have a name or a face, only a mouth. He could see the teeth glint at him when he closed his eyes. It was so close, hovering and sniffing at the delicate skin on his neck. It loomed over him as he lay, but he continued to wiggle his fingers and pointedly ignore it. It wanted to shred him to pieces, to feel the succulent flesh yield to violent wrenching and taste the pretty little fountain that would spring forth from his throat. The thought seemed clear enough to him, but any edge of fear was gone. He was too tired to fear it anymore, barely awake enough in reality to hold the teeth above his skin. If they punctured him, there would be no going back.

                The click of the lock on the door had him quickly lowering his arm and flipping over onto his empty belly. He hid his face in his arm and pretended to be asleep. It was all the he could do anymore, he'd learned. It didn't do much, only postponed the inevitable. But it stole him a few precious seconds, and he would take that as better than nothing at all. There had been a time in which he had fought and fought to summon his kagune and all of that time had been a fool's errand. Pitiful, really. That was a better word for it all. It had a flavor in his mouth, but it wasn't good.

                The footsteps came lighter than he thought they would, coming to stop in the center of the room. He lay deathly still, forced slow breaths leaving him silently as he found it within himself to hope and wonder. He hoped the ghoul would leave him, he wondered what they were doing there. It wasn't Big Madam, or the footsteps would sound fuller and less staccato. She had a way about her, and this ghoul didn't. He wondered if it could be--

                "Aaaaaugh!" He yelped, the floor sliding unsteadily beneath his stomach. He lifted his head in confusion, eyes blinking wide and helpless. The sinewy tendril of a kaguke had wrapped around his ankle and tugged him swiftly across the room to meet the body that stood in the middle. Mutsuki's stomach lurched and he struggled fruitlessly where he dangled upside-down before the ghoul thrust him into the ground with a sickening _thud_. The kagune shimmered and grew, and somewhere inside of him Mutsuki recognized it as a rinkaku. The ethereal tendril was thick with blue colors dancing beneath the surface. It held him in place against the floor with such power that he could hardly breathe. The faceless mouth that hovered above him opened giddy and wide.

                And of course there was the clatter of a fine silver platter against the floor. He could smell the meat well before he found the power to turn his head and look. If there had been anything inside of him to throw up, he would have surely done it. It was strange how horrific and yet entirely expected this was. His heart stirred sluggishly in his chest as he went through the motions. They'd done this before. Mutsuki's mouth clamped shut obstinately, teeth gritted too tightly in his mouth.

                "The Madam insists, " It was a line spoken as if in a play, one that had been repeated to Mutsuki over and over . The fingers were on his mouth quickly, a spike of impatience forcing its way from the ghoul's annoyed gaze to wash over Mutsuki's entire body. The fingers worked their way between his lips and found purchase between his teeth, forcing them open. His jaw popped painfully, but it didn't matter. He struggled, the motion of it tired and worn down. How many times? How many times? Had this happened to him yesterday? Or the day before? It had happened, but when? How long had it been since he left that dark room? He realized that he wasn't sure anymore. Entire blocks of time were gone. He was losing his life entire.

                He was finally afraid.

                The blood burst across his tongue, thick and aromatic. Don't swallow. Don't swallow. Think about the sky and don't swallow. When had he last seen the sky? It was something like last week. It was grey and cold and the earth was turning to iron. Winter. Winter was dark and hard like his little dark room and the hands that held open his jaw. Don't swallow. Think about the rain. It fell in curtains from above, muffling the city's sounds and making his eyes wander across the reflective wet pavement. He sputtered and coughed and everything was red. He couldn't breathe. The rain would wash it all away, but not like this. Not there. He had gone where the rain couldn't find him. Don't swallow. He couldn't breathe. Don't swallow. Don't breathe. Just die already.

                The faceless mouth was too close.

                He swallowed, and it wasn't anything he hadn't done before.

                He swallowed, and it wasn't like the other times.

                The teeth plunged into his neck, shredding him slowly, finally.

                He imagined himself splitting apart, his insides glistening red like pomegranate seeds. He wanted to become a place where flowers grow from rot. Somewhere something could cast its roots. He wanted to be a place. He wanted to be a thing and not a person.  He could feel it welling up inside of him, the sprouts pressing up from his pores, bursting out and wrapping around his waist, down his arms and legs. Vines pressed at the lowest point of his back, begging to be let out out out. And oh, how he'd much rather have been fertilizer than be there.


End file.
